Wednesday 25 November 2009

The past few days have been ones of high joys and inexpressible lows.

First off, my partner's murder-mystery evening was a rip-snorting success, enjoyed by all.  My partner even received a few wolf-whistles (nothing to do with actual wolves, though) for her leather trenchcoat and trilby combination (she played the detective).

Also, now that our finances are on more of an even keel, we are turning our attentions to making our little house more of a home.  The kitchen and living room have been somewhat reorganised and space has been made for my favourite armchair from the old house.  These days I even eschew the once-treasured sofa in favour of my old friend. Lovely.  We have also been labouring hard on our bathroom, which had been full of cardboard boxes.  The boxes are stored away and, in some cases, even emptied - our bookshelves are groaning with my partner's books (actually we need more bookshelves, but have no space to put them.  My partner says there would be room for another bookcase if we ditched the armchair.  I have vetoed this.).

The first birds have visited our new bird table, carefully positioned in our garden.  First to call was a little blue-tit, closely followed by a female robin.  All most exciting.  Other areas of my estate are less encouraging.  The extremely unpleasant weather has made my nasturtiums go a funny colour.  I am hoping that they will recover with the coming of kinder atmospheric conditions.

I am now firmly established as a daily fixture in my partner's workplace.  I enjoy accompanying her, and doze happily 'neath her desk, until lunchtime when we go for a lovely walk in the woods.  Sometimes I snooze in the afternoon; sometimes I play with my partner's colleagues.  I have even managed to assist the team in a very exciting event: last Friday, I killed a HUGE rat in the yard.  It was massive - larger than a puppy - and very dangerous.  I dispatched it quickly, and basked in my glory - I have not actually killed for some years and was beginning to think I might be past it.  Not so!  Alas, my partner would not let me eat my prize because the farmers next door usually put out rat-poison and my partner feared that I could also ingest poison via the rat, if it had taken some.  But the praise and gratification was reward enough for me.

Most pleasant of all in my new routine was being reacquainted with my old chums Ewan and Fizzy (dogs belonging to a colleague of my partner).  For descriptions of the pair, you will need to refer back to an earlier blog posting.  As a quick recap, however, Ewan is a large gangly mongrel who has some kind of unspecified mental deformity, but who is unstintingly friendly, enthusiastic and willing to chat.  He also has a bizarre, inexplicable, and entirely random obsession with cheese.  Fizzy arrived on the scene some months after Ewan and I had become friends.  She is a somewhat small, yet highly intelligent and attractive black Labrador.  She came to stay with Ewan and his partners for a couple of weeks - and never left.  There was initial friction at her appearance.  Ewan and I were both attracted to her but she didn't show much interest, save for a rapid loss of patience (which was somewhat understandable) with Ewan who, despite his keenness and eagerness to learn, asks constant questions and generally fails to comprehend the answers.  I had grown accustomed to this, being well aware that it was a manifestation of Ewan's cerebral disadvantages, and had learned to deal with him.  Fizzy, however, found nothing but frustration and anger with her new companion.  In the end, I had to step in to thaw out hostilities and, the next thing I knew, the pair of them had formed some kind of relationship!  It was around that time that I stopped going to work with my partner.

Despite all that had passed, I was delighted to see my two chums again - though completely taken aback at Ewan's appearance.  His once-tousled fur was brushed and combed neatly.  He wore a smart new blue collar (Fizzy wore a similar one, though it was red).  He walked sensibly, without dashing about and careering into things.  We ALMOST had a sensible conversation.  Well - almost.
"Jasper!" he yipped, as he and Fizzy capered around me.
"Ewan and Fizzy!" I cried back and we all ran in mad, happy circles.
"I missed you." said Ewan, panting. "I've got something to show you.  Shall I, Fizzy?  Shall I?"
Fizzy nudged him forward and sat down beside him, grinning proudly.
"Watch this Jasper!"
I wondered what was coming.  But I have to admit, it surprised even me.  Fizzy opened her mouth and barked:
"Rabbit. Squirrel. Fish.  Which one?"
"Fish!" yapped Ewan, as I struggled to comprehend what was happening.
"Why?" asked Fizzy.
"Because he lives in the water and the others live on the ground!" barked an obviously beside-himself-with-excitement Ewan.  I raised an eyebrow.
"Impressive." I said.
"Fizzy has been learning me!  Another one! Another one!" yipped Ewan, jumping up and down.
"Teaching you, Ewan. I have been teaching you." said Fizzy gently.  "Alright then.  Sparrow.  Robin.  Frog.  Which one?"
"I know!" squealed Ewan, "Frog.  Because the others are flying and he isn't."
"Well done." said Fizzy, positively beaming with pride at her "pupil".  She had obviously been working hard.
"That is really impressive." I added.  "How about this: Squirrel. Fox. Monkey.  Which one?"
Ewan looked stricken, and Fizzy hurriedly muttered:
"He only knows British animals - we tried to do zoo animals, but it was too much too soon."
"Ah.  Hey, Ewan!  How about a game of football?"
"Yaaaaayyyyy!" barked Ewan joyfully, capering around the yard.  The three of us had a fine game, which only ended when Ewan became distressed because he couldn't find where he'd put his football.  Here is the proof:

Ewan loses his football.

The best picture of the three of us together that my partner could get:

And no mention of cheese whatsoever.  I was extremely impressed - although I allowed myself a private smile, pleased to learn that, somewhere under Fizzy's teaching, grooming and vigilance, the old Ewan that we know and love was thriving. 

So, then, I turn to the inexpressible low.  An exceptionally disrespectful cartoon, left by an anonymous colleague of my partner's, on a workplace noticeboard.  It nominally depicts both myself and a colleague of my partner's called Peter, in a most unflattering way.  I intended to share it with you - but inadvertently deleted the image of the travesty.  No bad thing.  You - dear reader - do NOT need to see me depicted as a flatulent, obese hell-hound with hugely deformed claws, fangs and horns.  You are too pure.  Suffice it to say that the culprit of this gross mischief was identified and swiftly "disinfected".  Oh yes.

Good night.

Sunday 15 November 2009

What, in the name of Beelzebub and all his little wizards, is going on with the weather?!

Never have I seen the trees shaken by such tumultuous winds. It was most unsettling. On venturing into our garden as the gusts whipped around us, my partner glanced at me and said "Toto, I have the feeling we're not in Kansas anymore."

I nodded, sagely. It was deemed too wild and windy for the woods, so my partner took me for a run on the open commons instead where, fortunately, dwell neither Munchkins nor flying monkeys.

The storm seems to have blown itself out now, so I can settle back into my routine, without having to hide under the furniture, candle at the ready lest a power-cut should ensue.

These horrors duly over, follow me, if you will, into my little time machine and we'll head back - for the last time - to the morning following my great adventure. That was the day set aside, prior to everything, for the removal of the stitches that were binding my eye closed. My partner said that we would walk to the vets and get that done and then go on to our evening walk (unfortunately we live extremely close to the vets' surgery. I must pass it twice a day. I would like them to relocate now that I am in the vicinity, but they selfishly refuse. Their arrogance is unacceptable to my stomach.). As we exited our house, whom should we meet returning from his walk? Starsky. My next-door neighbour and his partner. I greeted him heartily as our respective partners stopped to chat, and endeavoured to engage him in conversation.

Something was wrong, however. Starsky just glared at me and would not respond to my polite enquiries. I was confused - I thought we had come to an understanding. At length, Starsky shot me a contemptuous look and said:
"ALL night, she cried for you." He flicked an ear towards my partner. "All night. You selfish pig." His body tensed, ready to flee in case I went for him. But I lunged not, instead trying feebly to explain myself. Starsky would have none of it. "I heard her through the wall," he went on, "That POOR little girl. She treats you so well, and that is how you repay her. Don't you think of anyone but yourself?"

I replied that I knew I had done serious wrong and was heartily ashamed of myself. I tried to explain that I had been on my way home when I was picked up and, from that point, events had been taken out of my paws. Starsky didn't look very convinced, until my voice faltered and finally cracked on repeating how very, very sorry I was. His expression softened and he said "Well, let's say no more about it, then." He gave my shoulder a friendly head-butt and I managed a weak smile.
"I wish there was anything I could say or do to make things all better." I sighed.
"Well, there is." replied Starsky.
"What?"
"Just don't do it again."
Wagging my tail, I nodded. And, with that, we parted friends once more.

I was slightly hesitant on entering the vets', fearing that news of my naughtiness had reached my surgeon's ears. But, happily, these fears were unfounded. The stitches and button were removed from my eye, and I held my breath...

The procedure had been a complete success. The surface of my eye had COMPLETELY healed, save for the faintest trace of a scar that once was. My vision was entirely unimpaired and all, partner, surgeon, Jasper, were extremely happy with the results.

After the walk (during which I behaved impeccably), the final act in the drama closed the episode. My partner spotted that I had acquired a number of offensive thorns in my flesh during my hours at large. I had to sit under the big light in the living room while my partner knelt over me, armed with a pair of tweezers. I am sure she was wielding them more forcibly than was warranted.

She also, however, discovered on my neck a tick, which had invaded my personal space in order to sup on the delicious, nourishing soup that flows through my veins. That didn't last long against the mighty tweezers. At the end of the examination, my partner showed me the fruits of her labours on a square of tissue: two very large blackthorns (from 'twixt my shoulder-blades), seven bramble-thorns and the ex-tick, with the ex-contents of his belly, which were the ex-partial content of my veins.

Thankfully, the whole is now an ex-episode and this is the last I shall bark on the topic.

Now then. I don't usually post links on my blog, but I have a couple for you here today. The first is to mark the fact that last Sunday was Remembrance Sunday, with the most recent Wednesday being Armistice Day. During 2009, we have also lost the last three Tommies to survive the horrors of the WWI trenches. Here is the link (All featured are Americans; no Brits, alas, but I think you can take it as read that reactions would be the same around the world): http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/archives/40324.

The second is on behalf of my friends, The Animal Doctor and his lovely Secretary. They do wonderful, selfless work for furry folk in The Philippines. One of their dogs, Scarlet - who is an unbelievably beautiful young lady - has found that nature denies her the opportunity to walk. She is well cared-for and happy, but would like to have a doggy-wheelchair (they exist - I've seen one in action!). Here is a link to find out more about pretty little Scarlet; if you are able to help with a few pennies or even just a bit of encouragement for these wonderful folk in The Philippines, well, that would be wonderful. Here she is: http://theanimaldoctor.blogspot.com/2009/11/please-help-our-little-scarlet-get.html. And don't forget - in helping each other (no matter WHAT the species or gender), we are also helping ourselves.

Next time - at work with my partner: back with Ewan and Fizzy! And a night of foul, bloody murder...

Well, all right. I WAS going to leave you with that one - but I didn't want to put thoughts of unspeakable evil in your mind, sweet reader. My partner's play was cancelled, as a key actor had to withdraw for family reasons at a late stage. In its stead, my partner and her cohorts are staging a murder-mystery event, where the audience sit at tables, have some supper, and try to guess who amongst the cast of the specially-crafted play committed a heinous misdeed. There's a prize for the most accurate table of sleuths. Sales have gone through the roof - 80 places were originally on offer; 94 tickets have been sold. ALREADY a success (I would blush to take any credit, naturally). My partner plays the detective, who has to help the audience untangle the evil deeds and reveal the culprit(s) at the end. Rehearsals are lots of fun. I shall, naturally, keep you posted.

And, at some point, I must turn my whiskers to providing the next installment of "The Evolution of Jasper". What a busy life it is for a Staffordshire Bull Terrier these days... I even found time to help my partner sort out our bathroom this afternoon...

Good night.

Saturday 7 November 2009

Inevitably, then, came the aftermath.

As we moved away down the road from Charlie's house, my partner clung to me, sobbing over and over again about how much she'd missed me, how she thought she'd never see me again, how much she loved me, etc. Personally, I was divided between feelings of utter elation and total wretchedness. We arrived at the home of my partner's parents, as my partner's mother was concerned for her daughter and wanted to make sure she ate some breakfast (my partner had previously 'phoned her place of work, explaining the situation and informing them that she would not be in that day. Her colleagues were full of kind concern).

On entering the house, I suddenly realised how tired I was. I also learned of the endeavours that had taken place the previous evening to try and locate me.

A search party had been formed. Some scoured the place where I had last been sited. Others drove slowly along local roads, seeking any sign of me. The details grew more chilling by the moment. At length, the deeper waters of the river had been probed as searchers wondered if my drowned and bloated body would float to the surface. One of the drivers (my partner's father) had driven at a snail's pace along the dual carriageway (notorious for traffic speeds and numerous fatal accidents) at the other end of the fields, looking to see if my mangled and bloody remains lay at the side of the road.

After several hours, and way past midnight, the search was abandoned. My partner's mother fetched blankets and pillows and spent the night at my house, comforting my distraught partner as she telephoned the police, the vet and the dog warden, before retiring to pass a sleepless night alone in our bed.

Whilst learning of all this, I was stricken with guilt and lay mutely under the table. My partner's mother persuaded my partner to accept a slice of toast and a cup of tea, which she did her best to swallow. After slipping most of the toast to me, my poor partner fled upstairs to the bathroom and I heard the sounds of her being violently and copiously sick. I crept up the stairs after her and sat quietly beside her while she vomited and wept.

Following this unpleasant episode, we got in the car again and my partner's mother drove us home. I was transported with joy at seeing my own dear house again. I bounded happily into my garden, anxious to reacquaint myself with all the familiar smells, feeling as if I had been away for a year, as opposed to just one night.

I felt that I wanted to dash about and kiss all who were familiar to me. But there seemed an embargo on each and every one:

• Chloe - No, for obvious reasons;
• Milo, Zac, Sophie - No, they were too young for it to be appropriate;
• Peaches - No, as he would rip off my face. Plus he smells unacceptably of pilchards;
• Eddie - No, as he would think I had switched to the Pink Side and initiate mating procedures.

That left Starsky and Archie (the Jack Russell at the end of the road). I did think about it - but then I decided that it would be too embarrassing to face either of them after snogging them. So, in the end, I gave my partner a really big kiss instead.

My partner was so exhausted that she went to bed. I followed her, and we slept the ENTIRE day. And that was the end of the whole sorry episode.

Well - not quite. One mystery remains. According to my partner, I was last seen before events unfolded at approximately 6.45pm. Charlie's partners picked me up as I was walking towards home at 11.10pm. My partner has repeatedly questioned me as to my whereabouts in the interim.

The fair Dolores, as well as my partner's other friends and work colleagues, suggested that I had been propping up the bar in the pub nearest to my house. I had been picked up whilst walking the relatively short distance between the pub and my house, some ten minutes after Last Orders. But no. My snout is sealed - a gentleman never barks. My partner now refers to that period of time as "The Lost Four Hours".

Apart from being distressing all round, I am now annoyed at the incident. Just prior to the event, I had been putting finishing touches on a blog entry describing a highly similar situation, involving kitten Zac and his brother Milo, which occurred at the end of the summer. I will now have to wait a for a suitable length of time to pass before posting it, or it will make me look even more foolish than I already feel.

And now, I daresay you would like to hear some positive news after all this trauma. I have several items for you. Firstly, my partner's lump is a GREAT DEAL smaller - in fact, it has almost gone. She still experiences pain, but it looks increasingly likely that she will not have to have her drastic operation after all! Fingers and paws crossed... Secondly, our New Teal Megane passed its MOT without needing any work! Hurrah!! My partner says that this is the first time that such a thing has occurred for her. This has helped us to forgive the car for being in a higher road-tax bracket than our late, lamented Little Green Corsa. And, thirdly, my partner and I celebrated our birthdays a week or two ago. Among other gifts, we received five rose bushes for our garden. My partner's mother came over today to help us plant them. We have also installed a nice bird-feeding table, to attract winged friends to feast over the winter months (strategically positioned so as to be inaccessible to my many feline neighbours).

Happy days are here again.

Good night.

Sunday 25 October 2009

On Thursday, I was ten years old. Now, I am not. For, on Friday, I turned eleven. Eleven years of Jasper in this world. The preceding day was my sweet partner's birthday. We celebrated by treating ourselves to fish and chips from the chippy. Happy days.

And what a year it has been. Full of traumas and changes for us both. In the first place, we would BOTH like to express heartfelt thanks to all those friends who sent good wishes for my partner's hospital appointment in the week. Lance, Mad, Bailey (long time, no bark, mate - hope things are wagging well for you) and the ever-wonderful Animal Doctor, Secretary and their brood of furry angels. THANK YOU. Your kind thoughts were of great help.

'Twas not an appointment that brought much good, however. My partner has got three months to stop smoking completely (she only has a couple a day - but that is two too many) and to lose as much weight as she can and then they will operate. 'Tis a very high-risk operation, I understand. My partner and I have discussed things and, although she will comply with the consultant's instructions, we believe that she shall request NOT to have the operation. It will complicate matters, though painkillers can abate the soreness, and it may bring her life-expectancy down to one more in line with my own, but neither of us wish to take the dangerous risk. My partner says that she would rather pass in my company, in a warm bed, than under anaesthetic on a cold table with her chest cavity open. Plus which, she is aware that her breasts are key assets for attracting the menfolk of her species, so best if they don't fall prey to the scalpel... She's not completely stupid.

And, secondly, it is now time to conclude the traumatic tale of my separation from my beloved partner. We left off last time with me being ushered into the spare bedroom of my luxurious prison, with new friend Charlie assuring me that all would be well...


You will not be surprised to learn that I did not sleep well. I was haunted by dreams and thoughts of the bleak, partner-less, future that I may have to face and it was not long before my pillow was wet with tears. I must have fallen asleep at some point, however, because when I opened my eyes light streamed through a gap in the pale curtains. For a moment, I thought the whole episode had been a horrible dream - until I took in my surroundings. I was laid in a neat, single bed with chintz sheets and matching curtains. The room smelled of fresh laundry and roses. As I began to stretch my limbs, and long for the double bed which I shared with my partner, a strange, wailing sound disturbed me. Someone was singing.

"I left my hearrrrt in Saaan Fraaaancisco!"

It was fairly tuneless, but jolly all the same. I jumped off the bed, nosed open the door, and followed the sound. It was Charlie, in the Utility Room, being dried by his male partner. As I poked my head around the door, Charlie looked out at me from under his towel and grinned.

"Morning, mate!" he said. "Sleep well? I've been out for a quick run and a dip in the river. Same every morning - and I like a good sing when I'm being dried. Sets me up for the day!"

I wagged my tail at him. Whatever trials Charlie had experienced in his past life, he was completely happy now. I don't think I'd ever seen anyone quite so content with his life before. Apart from the dog Ewan, of course, but his relentless happiness was principally due to his psychological difficulties. Charlie was sane AND happy. "There are biscuits here, on this plate, for you." continued Charlie, as he was released from the folds of his towel, shook himself, and trotted up to give me a friendly lick. He indicated the plate from the night before, on which had been placed a number of dog biscuits. Charlie had already emptied his bowl of his biscuits.

As I debated with myself as to whether to lower myself to the indignity of dog - dog!! - biscuits, Charlie's female partner entered the kitchen, holding a telephone handset.

"Good news." she said. Charlie and I looked up expectantly, and her husband, Charlie's male partner, came in from the Utility Room after hanging up Charlie's towel. "I 'phoned the Dog Warden." [from the local council] "This fellow was reported missing by his owner last night!"

My tail began to slowly wag. My hostess continued.

"He's going to ring her, and she'll be here to pick you up very soon."

Could this be?!?! My partner had searched for me?!?!?! I yipped, as Charlie beamed and winked at me.

"Hmmn!" said the male partner, "I wouldn't have minded keeping him. He gets on well with our Charlie, and he's a super little fellow."

I bristled slightly at the term "little" - but was almost overwhelmed. At that very moment, my partner was speeding towards me - and our reunion was imminent. My appetite suddenly returned, and I gobbled up the biscuits that had been laid out for me.

"Charlie." I said, as I swallowed the last biscuit, "I cannot thank you enough for your kindness and your hospitality. No-one deserves their good fortune more than you. Bless you again and again."

"My pleasure." said Charlie, confirming his good nature. His partners went to stroke and fuss me, and I expressed my grateful thanks to them, though it is doubtful that they understood. After a short time, a car was heard drawing to a halt in front of the cottage. Charlie's female partner went into the front room, followed by Charlie and I, and looked out of the window.
"Yes," she called back to the kitchen, "This is them."

I held my breath - and a sudden thought struck me and froze me to the spot. What would my partner think? What would she say? All I could imagine was that I would receive a severe spanked bottom for my wickedness. Could my partner EVER forgive me? Would she even want me again?

Charlie called me over to the window. I looked out - YES! It was her!!! It was her parents' car. Her mother got out of the driver's side and she - my Most Only - exited the passenger's side.

But I was appalled at what I saw.

My young, beautiful, cheery, vibrant partner was hunched over - stooped, like an elderly pensioner - and was clinging to the frame of the vehicle door for support. With one hand she gripped the car door and the other hand and arm was clutched around her stomach, as if comforting herself. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, and the area around them was dark and swollen - as if she had just gone five rounds with Lennox Lewis.

What had I done to her? Could she ever forgive me? Charlie's partners opened the front door, and I stepped apprehensively forward.

All my doubts were instantly erased.

At first sight of me, my partner collapsed to her knees.
"JASPER!!!" she screamed, throwing her arms open wide. I instantly broke into a run, and literally flung myself into her embrace; my tail wagging with such fury that I was sure it would wag clean off.

My beloved partner held me tightly, wailing over and over again that she'd thought I was dead, she'd thought she'd never see me again... The hot tears poured from her eyes, down her sweet apple cheeks, and onto the fur on my face.

Her tears trickled down my furry face - and mingled with my own. We were reunited. Nothing else mattered - or ever will.

Good night.

Monday 19 October 2009

A brief interlude in my recital of recent adventures. My partner goes to the hospital first thing tomorrow, to find out if she needs to have most of her left breast removed.

A short while ago, I asked her how she felt about it.

"To be honest, Jazz, " she replied, gently stroking my head, "I'm f***ing terrified."

Now, my partner is NOT a potty-mouth. So, from this, one of two things can be inferred:

1. She has developed some Tourette's-type, toilet-tongued condition, which manifests itself in occasional random bouts of foul language; or
   
2. She is genuinely frightened.

I suspect the latter. Either way, I will be there for her - come what may.

Next up will be the concluding instalment of the thrilling tale of my late escapade.

Good night.

Thursday 15 October 2009

My partner has had loads of her hair cut off. It looks good. Last week, she went to see Ricky Gervais' new live show (partner's brother and sister-in-law generously paid for the tickets). These things have made her smile. However - I suspect that these things have largely been a diversion from the trauma of recent events. You know what I mean.

When last I barked to you, I left you with the image of my sobbing and terrified self, speeding away from all I held dear, in the company of strangers. I shall return to that moment.

After what seemed a lifetime of travelling, the car pulled into a gravelled driveway and I heard a gate close behind us. The engine stopped. The man and lady in the front got out and opened a rear door. I tried flatten myself against the back of the seat.

"Please!" I wailed, "Take me back! I want to go home! Please!"

"Out you get, boy." said the man, "You're safe now."

"I was safe before!" I wept, "Take me back! Take me back!"

But they couldn't understand me. After a few minutes of coaxing, the lady said "Why don't we get Charlie? He might be able to help." And they went to the door of their house. A few moments later, a young dog jumped into the car beside me. This must have been Charlie. His fur was caramel-coloured, tousled and curly. He was ruggedly handsome, with gentle hazel eyes, and he sniffed me over, looking down at me with good-humoured pity.

"Come on mate," he barked gently, "Why all the tears? You're safe now. Out you come."

"I want to go home." I cried.

"Of course you do." he replied, "But it's late now. Come inside with me, and we'll sort you out in the morning. Come on, mate."

Still crying, and somewhat reluctantly, I followed Charlie out of the car. Gratefully, I did a wee in the garden, and then followed him into his house. And it was a beautiful house. Large, with a thatched roof and several thatched outbuildings, like the sort of cottage one sees on a gift-tin of shortbread. But all this meant nothing to me. I felt acutely the distance between me and my partner and wondered what she was doing at that moment, longing to be with her. To see her just once more. The front door closed behind me. At that, I gave a long mournful howl and started to cry again.

"Come on, mate." said Charlie kindly, "No more of that. You come with me and I'll show you around. I dutifully trotted slowly after Charlie and followed him through the kitchen, where his partners were preparing a bit of supper. "Utility room," said Charlie, indicating a small room off the kitchen. As I padded around after him, he was chatting all the while, trying hard to occupy my mind. When we went into the drawing room, where there was a beautiful big inglenook fireplace, my host sat down and looked at me. "What happened, then?" he asked. I didn't know where to begin. "It's alright." he smiled, "I was abandoned too. Ended up in a rescue kennel. Then, about six months ago, mum and dad came to choose a dog and they picked me. Brilliant, eh?" When I didn't say anything, he continued. "I was so lucky. There was a really snotty little poodle in there who said that no-one would want me 'cause I was a mongrel. I took great pleasure in marching past that gobby old sow's kennel the day mum and dad chose me."


I managed a watery smile. "That's better." grinned Charlie. "So don't worry. Just 'cause you were abandoned, it doesn't mean it's all over for you."

"I wasn't abandoned." I said quietly.
"What?"
"I wasn't abandoned. I ran away."
"Were you being beaten?"
"No."
"Starved?"
"No."
"Abused?"
"No."
"And you just ran away?"
"Yes."
"Why on Earth would you do a thing like that?"
"I don't know." I replied miserably. "I was chasing a vixen and then I got lost and it all went really badly wrong. Eventually I found the road home and was almost there when your people put me in their car. Please make them take me back."

"Not tonight, it's too late - it's nearly midnight, you know. I'm sorry, mate. But it will be alright. So, was she worth it? The vixen?"
"All things considered, no." I muttered.
"Bad luck." commiserated Charlie. "But look. You'll spend the night here, and in the morning mum and dad will know what to do. We'll have a bit of supper in a minute and everything will be OK after a good sleep."


I know it sounds ungrateful, but Charlie's ceaseless optimism was beginning to grate on my nerves. I was sick with worry about my partner, and desperately unhappy - as well as being utterly ashamed of my actions. Also, I hated the fact that Charlie referred to his partners as 'mum and dad'. My partner is my partner, not my parent. We have an equal partnership - no-one higher than or superior to the other. Both united as one, joined together, a perfect team. Plus, she always... she would... she... she...

"I WANT MY MUMMY!" I wailed, howling out a fresh burst of huge tears.


"Aww," said Charlie, pattering over and giving my ear a comforting lick. "Of course you do - for you are a good boy. And, in the morning, we will find her for you. Easy enough. Of course, you are microchipped?"
"No." I wept.
"But you have an ID tag?"
"No-oo!" I howled, feeling incredibly stupid now about the pride I'd felt when I managed to lose my ID tag during a fight with an Alsatian many years ago. My partner had never got around to replacing it, which suited me fine. Until now.
"Ok-aaay."said Charlie, with a frown and a sigh. "Well. We'll sort things out, one way or another. Try not to fret. Now then. I believe my nose is telling me that supper is ready."

I followed Charlie down the passageway and into the warm kitchen. His partners were seated at the kitchen table, enjoying a poached egg on toast and a glass of something nice. Charlie went to his bowl, beside which was some meat on a china plate. "That plate is for you." he explained, "Dig in." And he got on with the business of gobbling up his own supper.

I took a tentative bite at the meat on the plate, and almost choked. I nearly spat out the meat but, fortunately, remembered my manners at the last moment.
"Charlie," I spluttered, "This is - this is dog food!"
"Oh-ho, yes!" he grinned, his whiskers covered in meaty gravy, "Nothing but the best in this house!" I looked at the rest of the meat on the plate. It stared coldly back at me.
"I'm not really that hungry." I said, "Would you like to finish mine?"
"Sure?" asked Charlie. I nodded, and he needed no second invitation, noisily scoffing the extra meat.

Charlie's owners were incredibly kind. They patted me and fussed over me. After Charlie and I were given a last toilet opportunity, the doors were locked for the night. As we walked back down the passageway, Charlie said "You are going to sleep in the downstairs spare room. I will be in my bed in the drawing room - it's between dad's chair and the fireplace. Scratch on the door if you need me for anything."
"You have been very kind, Charlie." I said, and he grinned.
"Try and get some sleep, mate." he said, "It'll all be OK in the morning."

But I couldn't see how. I had no microchip; no ID tag and Charlie's partners couldn't understand my barks. How would I ever find my way back to my partner again - and how was she coping without me?

To be continued...

Sunday 4 October 2009

I am NOT a happy dog.

Yes. I had the operation.

When I stated previously that "I would resist it with every fibre of my being", I would like to say that I tried. I really tried. However, I neglected to factor-in the vets' ready availability of extremely potent sleeping draughts. Following the sensation of the tiny pin-prick, I was mid-way through telling my surgeon EXACTLY what I thought of him, when my eyelids became unaccountably heavy and I collapsed into the welcoming arms of Morpheus. When I awoke, my right eyelid had been stitched closed (the stitches held in place by a button - a button, of all things! The indignity!!) and the anti-tamper abomination shown above had been affixed. I was - and continue to be - extremely angry. That barked, my eye DOES feel a great deal better now. The stitches come out in a day or two; and the button/stitches combo has been useful for procuring treats from sympathetic folks. Hehehe...

My only other comfort in this is that I understand that my wife, Isolde, is also having to sport such an item, having recently undergone a minor surgical procedure to stitch a cut, sustained whilst pursuing a wily beastie. And she had more stitches than I did, so she has to wear her collar for longer. Swings and roundabouts. Hehehehe...

This, however, is NOT the most tumultuous event to have taken place in the past seven days. Oh no. My partner has said that I must post the dreadful event of the latest Thursday on my blog for you to read - and then the event will never be raised between us again. I tried pretending to be asleep in order to evade this necessity, but, alas she was not fooled. Oh dear...

Thursday evening saw my partner and I tripping out for our regular evening walk. 'Twas a delightful occasion. I was sans lampshade collar (aka The Abomination), and glorying in the fresh evening scents and my freedom to run. We were a little later than usual, but not enough to concern my partner. After my nightly swim in the ford, I was overjoyed to pick up the scent of the local fox, my current favoured quarry. Off I sped.

And then, it all went horribly, terribly, awfully wrong.

The scent of the vulpine maiden (for 'twas a vixen) was strong and enticing. I ran and ran and ran - and suddenly found myself in unfamiliar territory, with neither vixen nor partner. Poo and double-poo.

At one point, I thought I heard my partner calling and ran in that direction. But the trail was cold.

I ran through hedges, through streams, across gardens and roads, and finally regained a familiar path. I stopped for a rest. The sky was now thoroughly dark. I carried on trotting along the path that I knew would take me home. At the point where I had to cross a busy road, I paused to wait for a car to pass, as my partner had taught me. However, this car, after passing me stopped, and reversed towards me. The car door opened.

"Hello." said a female voice. She sounded nice. The car was the same shape as the one belonging to my partner's parents. There was a man driving and a lady in the passenger seat, I raised my snout to sniff the lady's perfume.

Hurrah!!! It was my partner's parents! Despite the fact that I was so close to home, my paws were sore and I had some thorns stuck into the flesh on my back. I decided to accept the lift and be driven the short remainder of the journey home.

As the car moved off, and then gained speed as it passed straight by the turning into the road where stood the dear little house that I shared with my partner, I became a little uneasy. Perhaps my partner was waiting for me at her parents' house...? But no! We went straight past that turning too! As we passed under a street light, I took a closer look. This was NOT the car belonging to my partner's parents. And the couple in the front were complete strangers.

Shrinking as far as I could into the back seat of the car, trembling uncontrollably, I began to cry.

To be continued.....